


Until You Break the Silence

by freakofnature



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Depression, For: Cowardpervert, Haikyuu Spring Fling, Happy Ending, Honestly these boys are dumb, M/M, Misunderstandings, Not so happy everything else, rushed ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 09:31:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6512791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freakofnature/pseuds/freakofnature
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Shit, Kenma. Cry and make a scene so I can feel like this happy ending isn’t so…”<br/>“Boring?” Kenma supplies while curling against Kuroo’s side.<br/>“Dull sounds like a better word.” Kenma hums his agreement.<br/>The silence that settles in the room is comfortable, soft in a way Kenma hasn’t felt in months. Silence shared by his best friend, by his something. It’s then, in the quiet of their time together, that Kenma gets an idea. “You could kiss me,” he says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until You Break the Silence

**Author's Note:**

> alt summary: This Wasnt Supposed to be This Sad by Kenma with Depression ft Kuroo. written by Misunderstanding and Angst. 
> 
> honestly tho thats it. thats the fic. u have read it with that simple summary. 
> 
> Title taken from: Twist in My Story by Secondhand Serenade 
> 
> For: @cowardpervert on tumblr. tbh its STILL THE 9TH IN ANOTHER TIMEZONE but its past midnight (barely) for me so this is...so late. and im....so sorry. 
> 
> u like kenma and....i hurt him a lot. im REALLY SORRY this wasnt supposed to be this sad. but it got sad and ....everytime i wanted to make ti happy it just got MORE SAD. so. :') im so v sorry, i hope you like it tho. 
> 
> note: all links will be updated after i sleep and dont feel like death. better formatting and a better edit will also happen at this time. if you spy any spelling/grammar errors DO TELL ME! i miss them all the fucking time.

Kenma has learned growing up that not everyone views depression the same way. Some think of it as a sudden sadness, an all-encompassing darkness that presses on every side. For day, hours, weeks, minutes; just _darkness_. They think that during these _episodes_ , all motivation is lost. All sense of happiness—gone. That when these episodes occur, the victim is lost to the world, unable to feel, to love, to _care_. He has learned that others think depression is fake as a mental illness. A lie to get medication, a lie to get away with things. These people aren’t necessarily _bad_ , just misguided and often strong willed. These people think that everyone gets depressed—thinks that their sort of sadness is just like everyone else’s—that the only way to break free is to get up and keep walking. People who think like this—Kenma has learned—are no less caring when they see a sad person, and work hard to make sure that they feel better. They just don’t understand what it’s like to _not_ be able to bottle the dark thoughts and push forward.

He doesn’t hate them, but he envies their strong mental fortitude.

Kenma doesn’t think of depression as a _sudden_ anything. It’s always there, always present in the corners of his mind. Telling him that he fucked something up, that his friends didn’t love him. That he was going to be alone, so why try? Why try, when he was going to be useless anyway?

These are the thoughts he wakes with, the thoughts that sing to him as he brushes his teeth before school. Those same thoughts push his tongue back when he wants to speak. It’s the same thoughts that cause him to reach for his phone when he’s uncomfortable. Dark thoughts he suffered through elementary school with. Thoughts he graduated high school with. Kenma walked across the stage and shook his principal’s hand with his diploma in the other while dark thoughts battled in his head.

His depression suffered through high school with him, picked out colleges _with him_. Kenma knows that his depression is a part of him. Something he’s not sure he can live without. Something that sometimes is the only thing that reminds him he’s still alive. It’s a part of Kenma that enjoys settling in the background, and rears its head every so often, making his life unnecessarily difficult.

There are days when the darkness presses so hard—so _convincingly_ against him, whispering their lies that wrap around Kenma’s mind like a vice—that Kenma finds it hard to drag himself to his college classes. Some days he can’t even do that.

Some days it takes Kenma all his energy to cry for help.

And some days, it’s enough.

Other times, it’s not.

* * *

 

When Kenma is able to peel back his eyelids from his eyes, he purses his lips together in an attempt to stifle the groan that presses at the seam. Darkness lingers at the edges of his vision, manifesting themselves as dark shadows on the walls. A representation of the darkness that slowly is swallowing Kenma whole.

He’s no stranger to days like these. When the morning light seeping into his room is less welcoming and Kenma wants to tell the sun to go fuck itself for being so bright. When coffee becomes his lifeblood, when he thinks that coffee is the only reason he hasn’t died just yet. These mornings when the darkness didn’t cover him during the night, but slowly tinged his vision with grey until the world seemed dull and uninteresting.

Until _Kenma_ thought himself dull and uninteresting.

Alone, these days seem to stretch for years. Mere minutes feeling like hours, and hours feeling like months. But if Kenma had enough time before the darkness pulled him too deep…if he could just get some _help_ , then the days didn’t pass so slowly.

“Kuroo,” Kenma breathes into the phone, panic lacing the name. A prayer, a plea. He didn’t know which.

“Kenma?” it sounds like static—too far away—and yet the words echo in Kenma’s head, pushing back his rapidly greying world for just a moment.

He says nothing in reply to Kuroo—his best friend, his _something_ —just presses a hand to his mouth to quiet the sob that spills from his lips. To quiet himself. To silence. He just needs _someone_.

“Kenma?” Kuroo says again but this time Kenma can hear shuffling before the gentle clink of Kuroo’s keys, “Kenma, I need you to say something, can I come over?”

 _Yes_ , he wants to scream into the phone, _yes please help me help me_.

The dark shoves against his mind and Kenma feels himself wishing for anything to make this pain _go away_ , “Kuroo,” he whimpers, the hand that had been covering his mouth slipping to claw at his bedsheets, “ _please_.”

“I got you,” is all Kuroo says before Kenma drops his cell in order to press the heels of his palms against his eyes.

* * *

 

By the time Kuroo slams into his apartment, Kenma has forced his body to make coffee and collapse on the couch. As Kuroo steps around to look at him, to drop in front of him, to _see him_ , Kenma is taking a large gulp of his coffee, relishing in the burn that dances across his tongue because _at least it’s something_.

Pain blossoms on the back of his hand, a sharp flash that tapers off into a dull sting, but the simulation brings Kenma’s gaze to the hand resting on the couch before he drags it up to meet Kuroo’s eyes. Objectively he knows they are copper—cat like and intense just like his—and if he focuses hard enough on his friend he can _see_ that they are copper. But everything seems so grey.

So dull.

“Kenma.” Kuroo snaps at him, and Kenma’s eyes snap back to his friend’s face, taking in the frown lines and worry etched into his face with disinterest, “can I have the coffee?” Kuroo continues on in a softer tone.

He hesitates, of course he hesitates it’s his coffee and it’s making him feel something, but Kuroo’s eyes are begging and Kenma doesn’t have the heart to say no.

Kuroo takes the coffee from his hands gently, a small smile pulling at his lips, “Good boy,” he praises and part of Kenma wants to frown at the words while the other part soaks in the praise. He was good.

 _He was good_.

The words vibrate in his mind, shaking around as thoughts crowd around, marveling how someone—how _Kuroo_ —could call him good.

“Hey, hey, don’t space out on me,” Kuroo’s words drag him back to the present—and how long ago did Kuroo come over? It only seems like seconds, but somehow that didn’t feel _right_.

He’s not going to question it though.

His name falls once again from Kuroo’s lips and he wants to apologize. For being this way. He _knows_ objectively what’s going on. He’s not stupid. The thoughts crowd his mind, distort his vision, press on his limbs. He wants to scream, but they press against his tongue. Kenma can barely lick his lips without wanting to sag against the cushions of his couch from all the effort it takes.

So he’s not sure how he manages to talk to Kuroo, how he manages to answer him. He can tell Kuroo is surprised too—a dark thought passes through his mind but is soon drowned out by every other bad thought congregating into a mass in his brain—but his lips move in a slow manner. Formulating the words was hard enough, but speaking them seems to be _that much_ harder.

“Please,” he forces out, “I…I want to lay down.” The effort of his simple sentence leaves Kenma taking several deep breaths, heart racing in over time while his body breaks out in a sweat.

In the far reaches of his mind—where the thoughts don’t touch—he remembers he hasn’t showered in over 24 hours.

Kuroo seems to know what Kenma needs more than Kenma does at this moment, and without another word, his friend is standing—back popping in a manner that betrayed the amount of time he had been crouched on his feet—before leaning over and tucking a lock behind Kenma’s ear.

“I’m gonna pick you up now,” is all the warning he gets before Kuroo follows through with the action, cradling Kenma to his chest, “Before bed, you gotta shower first, okay?”

“No.” Kenma whines, wishing that Kuroo would just _listen_ and let him sleep the day away. To hold him close and rub his back and tell him he was a good boy so that the thoughts would dissipate faster, “Bed.”

The grip around Kenma tightens for a moment before he sees the shake of Kuroo’s head, “I’ll shower with you, but you’re going to shower.”

Kenma wants to complain, but it’s easier not to. It’s easier not to do anything. To just…it would be easier to not exist.

Kuroo strips him with care, placing him in the shower before he steps in and gathers Kenma in his arms. Kenma feels the soft press of lips at his temple, feels the shudder that runs through Kuroo’s body at the action, but says nothing.

It’s not like he could if he wanted to. Too much effort, too little energy.

Much like he had declothed him, Kuroo rubs the washcloth over Kenma’s body in gentle circles, taking care to wash every part of him with a sort of single minded devotion that if Kenma was feeling any other way except _empty_ and _lost_ he would blush at the concentration Kuroo was taking to clean him.

It feels like hours later when Kuroo pulls the cloth away from him and he switches their positions so Kenma stands under the spray. The water beats against his skin for a few seconds before lips are pressed against his forehead.

An ache clenches around Kenma’s heart as the kiss moves to his temple before calloused hands are pulling him out of the spray. Kenma watches through grey tinted lenses as Kuroo washes the soap off his body.

“Kuroo,” Kenma pushes past his lips, watching as those eyes instantly meet his, worry making wrinkles in his face, “I wanna go to bed now.”

The worry lessens as a smile pulls at Kuroo’s lips. He nods once and turns around to shut off the shower, grabbing a towel so he could towel Kenma dry.

By the time Kenma is curled into bed, he feels if years have passed since he had last lain down. It doesn’t take long for Kuroo to slip under the covers next to him, and without any warning on his part, Kenma is curled against his best friend’s chest, bare legs tangling with Kuroo’s in an attempt to be as close as possible.

Because while Kenma hates being like this, hates feeling so empty, it’s the only time Kuroo will _touch him_.

“Kenma,” Kuroo sigh, fingers running through Kenma’s hair. He can feel the gentle scrape of nails on his scalp, the sensation pleasing and grounding. At his soft hum, Kuroo continues the motion.

He’s not entirely aware of when he fell asleep, but when he wakes—brain a little less fuzzy and distorted than earlier that day—Kuroo is asleep next to him. From his angle Kenma can see the gentle curve of Kuroo’s nose, the lines of his jaw. The slight downward pull to his lips.

Taking care not to make too much movement, Kenma tilts his face to press a soft kiss at the corner of those lips, wishing that someday Kuroo would just _kiss him back_.

Its wishful thinking, he knows it. He knows that Kuroo doesn’t think of him that way, knows that Kuroo is very much in love with…with anyone except him, Kenma realizes.

 _Ah_ , he thinks with a bitter smile, _something is wrong with me_.

He falls back asleep with that thought, tears clinging to his lashes as sleep pulls him down into their depths, whispering sweet nothings into his ear.

Kenma falls into his dreams with no complaint, hoping that at least for a little while, he can pretend that Kuroo is _his_.

When he awakes a second time, Kuroo is gone.

* * *

 

After that day, the darkness retreats to the corners of his mind, content for now to lurk at the edges of his brain. It’s been a week since that day, and other than a single ‘I hope you feel better’ text message from Kuroo, he hasn’t sent a single one.

Kenma feels like he’s going to tear off his own skin in anger, in annoyance, _in something_. This is not the best friend he grew up with, not the friend who blew up his phone whenever Kenma had to go home because he wasn’t feeling well.

This Kuroo is distant, elusive. Since Kuroo had vanished off into college, Kenma has been hearing less and less from him. He only sees Kuroo when he doesn’t trust himself to be alone. When he needs someone to be with him.

And even then his memory of Kuroo is often blurred by the pain of the day.

He hasn’t spent time with Kuroo in over a year.

He doesn’t know what to do.

 _Something’s wrong with me_ , he thinks again. For a moment he’s confused to if this is him or the thoughts, but when he presses for their location, they just stare back at him in silence.

The thought was all his.

Kenma isn’t sure if that makes him feel better or worse.

* * *

 

 _To: Kuroo_  
From: Kenma  
Subject: [none]

_Is something wrong with me?_

_[sent: 09:30] [read: 09: 35]_

Kenma stares at the text again, wishing that he could throw his phone at the wall and it _wouldn’t_ break on him. Wishes that Kuroo would just _reply_ to him. He doesn’t have anyone else. Only Kuroo. It’s always been Kuroo. Shouyou was a close second, but it wasn’t the same. Shouyou was in a different city, different prefecture.

They weren’t bonded from childhood.

It wasn’t the same.

And yet, Shouyou didn’t shy away from Kenma’s touches. Didn’t give him that pained smile when Kenma got _too close_.

Since when did Kuroo have space issues?

Since when did his best friend no longer love him?

* * *

 

 _To: Kuroo_  
From: Kenma  
Subject: [none]

_do you still care about me?_

_[sent: 13:04] [read: 13:30]_

Still no reply.

Kenma bites at his lip and heaves a sigh through his nose.

* * *

 

“Kuroo,” Kenma says into the phone, tears spilling from his eyes, “Kuroo, _please_.”

Silence greets him on the other end, and for a moment Kenma is scared that Kuroo hung up on him before he hears, “I got you.”

Kenma doesn’t fake the sob that rips from his throat.

Maybe Kuroo does care.

Kenma is on the couch, clutching his coffee mug to his chest when Kuroo slips into the door. Silence fills the air—tenser than before—and Kenma fights the urge to cry all over again.

“Kenma…” Kuroo says as he pads across the floor.

“Is something wrong with me?” Kenma demands, staring at Kuroo. He must look angry, as Kuroo takes a step back, his eyes wide.

Kenma then realizes it’s because never before had Kuroo come over while Kenma _wasn’t_ in a mood.

The thought only makes me him more irritated.

“Kuroo,” Kenma drops his gaze to stare into his coffee, “Is there something wrong with me?”

Only silence meets his words.

“Are you feeling okay?” Kuroo asks, his words soft, his eyes gentle.  He looks pained. Kenma wants him to, “have you showered today? Taken your meds?”

He wants to sneer, to snap at his friend to stop being so nice, to stop avoiding his question. But he says nothing. Kuroo continues to stare at him.

“Something is wrong with me.” He says after a time, a smile pulling at his lips. Now that he knows, now that he has _evidence_ that there is something not right with _him_ , he feels lighter.

“Kenma…” Kuroo takes that step forward, bringing him closer than Kenma wants.

He wants him gone. But the thought of losing his best friend, his childhood, hurts him more than the thought of Kuroo thinking he was useless.

“Don’t,” Kenma shrinks into the couch, watching as Kuroo freezes on the spot. He sees the pained look press against Kuroo’s features, making his face seem older than 24. Kenma thinks that look is good on him.

Kenma is certain over a minute passes before Kuroo shifts toward him again and says nothing as Kuroo crouches in front of him.

“Nothing’s wrong with you,” his friend says carefully. Kenma thinks about believing him, but Kuroo isn’t meeting his eyes.

“Liar,” Kenma wants to laugh, to laugh until he’s crying because _of course_ there is something wrong with him. Of course Kuroo couldn’t love him. Something was wrong. He wasn’t normal. He understood now.

He understood a lot of things now.

“Ken—”

“I want to go to bed now,” Kenma manages to push from his lips as he stands, “You can leave.”

He’s halfway down the hall when Kuroo’s voice rings in his ears, “Are really feeling okay?”

Kenma wants to say no, wants to say that he _misses_ his best friend. That he loves him, that he wishes for a lot of things he knows aren’t going to happen. Instead of saying any of those things, instead of dealing with any of their consequences, Kenma just says, “I didn’t know how else to get you here.”

The soft click of his bedroom door closing blocks out anything else Kuroo could have said—if he said anything at all.

While he doesn’t hear the front door close, Kenma’s sure that Kuroo had left between the time of Kenma crying against his pillows and when sleep finally pulled him under. So when he blinks his eyes open a few hours later to see Kuroo asleep next to him, Kenma has to hold back the scream that threatens to spill from his lips. Once the initial panic subsides, Kenma moves to slip out of his bed, only to find that Kuroo has an arm curled around his waist, holding him close but at a _distance_.

He had to have been asleep when Kuroo came in, Kenma realizes. It wasn’t _him_ to put this distance, but Kuroo himself. Kenma wonders what that could mean. Was Kuroo scared of him? Was something wrong with _Kuroo_ that he didn’t want to tell Kenma?

“I just want to know,” Kenma breathes into the quiet of the room. Knowing that he wasn’t going to go anywhere with Kuroo’s arm around him—without waking him up that is—Kenma settles closer to his friend, tucking his head under Kuroo’s chin and smiling when all that happens is Kuroo curling to accommodate him.

He could have this for now. He could pretend they were happy like this. That it was an afternoon cuddle. That Kuroo had pulled him into the room, taken Kenma’s gaming devices away, and demanded they spend time together.

That Kuroo kissed him until his lips were puffy and wet.

That they were together.

Kenma could _pretend_ , if just for a little while.

And if he fell back asleep with tear stains on Kuroo’s shirt. Well his friend wouldn’t know. So it was okay.

Everything would be okay.

* * *

 

_Somewhere between a dream and reality, Kenma feels fingers card through his hair. The action brings him closer to the dream, closer to succumbing under the warmth his body is pressed against. In his not-yet-awake state, Kenma thinks he can hear Kuroo humming under his breath. It’s not loud, and the sound of it pulls Kenma back into his dream where he is humming, walking down the street while his phone vibrates in time to his wordless song._

_“I miss you,” his phone says when Kenma finally decides to answer it. He’s pretty sure it’s a wrong number, he doesn’t understand why the person on the other line would be saying such things. Kenma pulls his cell back to check who had called him; there is only a black space where the name should be._

_Weird._

_His scalp itches._

_“I miss you, so much,” even away from his ear, Kenma can hear the deep rumble of the voice, and his body seems to shake in time to the words, “I’m sorry.”_

_The words seem to echo, to repeat until Kenma can barely hear them. The line goes dead._

_Kenma stares at his phone, feeling like he had lost something important just now._

_“Don’t go,” he says to the blank screen, “you can’t go…”_

“Kenma?”

Slowly Kenma’s dream shatters as he peels his eyes open, meeting copper.

He feels his heart stop, his breath frozen in his lungs.

Kuroo was here. Kuroo was _still_ here.

As quick as the panic appears, it vanishes from his limbs, leaving behind a dull sensation that tingles in Kenma’s body. At least he can breathe again.

“You’re still here.” It’s not a question, nor is it a statement. Kenma would call it closer to an accusation than anything else.

“You weren’t feeling okay, of course I’m here.” Kuroo’s brows furrow, that wrinkle Kenma is so used to seeing between them appearing once more, “I’m always here for you.”

At that Kenma snorts, thinking back on all the texts he had sent. The same messages that Kuroo read, and never replied to.

He starts as Kuroo pulls his hand from Kenma’s hair, using his thumb to brush the skin under Kenma’s eye, “Are you feeling better now?”

“Please go home,” he says in a reply, feeling that finger press a little harder into his skin. If he concentrates on the touch, he can feel Kuroo’s nail pressing against him, “I don’t want you here anymore.”

The look that passes over Kuroo’s face breaks Kenma’s heart. The widening of his eyes, the way his eyebrows pinch together, the way his lips thin while his jaw clenches.

He looks like he’s attempting to hold back tears.

Kenma is sure that Kuroo is going to win the battle against the tears in his eyes he squeezes them shut, but at the first fallen tear, Kenma feels his shattered heart clench painfully in his chest. Without thinking about his actions, he wipes the tear from Kuroo’s face.

Copper eyes blink open, lashes wet with tears, but Kenma doesn’t stare at them long before he’s pressing his face to Kuroo’s chest, muffling a broken cry.

He didn’t want this. He didn’t _ask_ for this.

All he wants is to be happy. To curl up next to Kuroo at the end of the day and _be happy_.

“Kenma, what—”

“I _miss_ you,” Kenma speaks into Kuroo’s shirt, his shoulders shaking as he fights back tears. He shouldn’t be the one crying right now. He should be apologizing for hurting Kuroo’s feelings, should be comforting _Kuroo_ for the harsh words he had said.

Another part of him tells him that it’s okay to cry. Kuroo hurt him far more than he had _ever_ hurt Kuroo. A part of him tells him that Kuroo deserves those words.

It hurts to know that Kenma agrees with those thoughts.

“I missed you,” he says again, calmer this time, “You never answer me anymore, you don’t _talk_ to me anymore…”

“When you call I always come,” Kuroo’s words are true, but Kenma knows—he _knows_ —Kuroo is hiding something, “Whenever you need me, I’m here.”

“You’re not here when I want you to be though,” Kenma confesses against fabric. He feels Kuroo’s body tense. How is chest heaves a deep breath before blowing it out slowly, “You’re only here when I can’t handle being alone…never when I just _want_ company.”

“You have Shouyou for that, don’t you? I don’t need to come over. I have a life, Kenma.”

The words hurt more than Kenma figures they should have. They stab into his heart and echo in his mind.

 _He doesn’t have time for you, Kenma_ , the thoughts tell him, slinking from their spot in his mind to wrap around him in a comforting darkness, _he doesn’t want you anymore_.

The thoughts, coupled with Kuroo’s heat pressed against his body is too much for Kenma and he pushes away his childhood friend before he battles the sheets wrapped around his body.

“Dammit!” he curses, kicking the offending sheets off his legs before stalking out of the room. He hears Kuroo call after him but he says nothing, anger pulsing through his veins like blood. His hands are shaking, his legs restless.

He _hurts._ How dare Kuroo toss him away like that, how dare he cast him aside as soon as Kenma felt comfortable with another person.

How _dare_ he leave Kenma all alone.

“Kenma,” he feels the too warm touch on his shoulder and he reacts without thinking, the resounding slap echoing in the silence of the room.

“Go away,” he snaps out, fighting back the shock of his actions, “go away, go home.”

“Kenma, if you let me—”

Kenma shakes his head, refusing to let Kuroo continue, “you have a _life_ , Kuroo. You shouldn’t have to deal with me, right?”

He pretends not to feel the fleeting touch of fingers in his hair, and only moves to the couch when the click of the front door sounds in the room.

That night, he deletes all the text messages he and Kuroo had ever exchanged before erasing his number from his contacts.

Kuroo had a life, and Kenma was certain he wasn’t supposed to be a part of it.

* * *

 

_“I’m sorry.”_

The words pull Kenma from his dream, and he blinks into the evening light shading his room. Outside his room he hears a clatter followed a quiet curse. He wants to smile. He wants to yell at him to get out.

He just wants to go back to sleep.

“Oh, you’re awake.” Kuroo appears in the doorway to his room, a steaming mug of _something_ cradled between his hands. Kenma blinks at him a few times before he nods, watching as his childhood friend strides to his bed and places the mug on Kenma’s bedside table. A warm hand presses against his forehead for a second before it’s removed and replaced with damp lips, “Do you feel better?”

Kenma doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t remember _why_ Kuroo is in his apartment. He remembers their fight, the bitter feelings that rose after Kuroo left him alone.

How Kenma had erased everything to do with him.

“Why?” he asks, voice scratchy and rough from disuse. He isn’t sure when the last time he used it was.

“Shouyou told me you had gotten sick. I came,” a small smile, “I do care about you, Kenma.”

 _No he doesn’t_ , the voices whisper in the back of his mind. Kenma is too weak to push them away, but they are also too weak to do more than whisper their darkness to him.

“Why…why are you here?” he asks again, not believing a word out of Kuroo’s mouth. Kuroo had cast him away, left him alone in his apartment when all Kenma wanted was for his best friend to hold him and tell him that he loved him. That he cared more than anything.

That their feelings were the same.

A soft sigh. Another press of lips against his flushed skin, “I care about you, Kenma.” Words muffled against Kenma’s skin.

“Then why did you _leave_ me?” he can feel the sweat on his skin now, how his nose refuses to intake air on the left side, how the room seems too hot and yet too cold.

His body equally thinks its freezing as much as it thinks it’s on fire.

“Why did you leave me that day? Why didn’t you stay? Why…why did you never tell me?”

This time Kenma gets to watch as confusion passes over Kuroo’s face before those thin lips pull down into a frown, the familiar furrow between his brows, “I told you, Kenma. I told you every time I saw you. You never said anything in your text messages, I thought. I thought that you didn’t say anything to keep our _friendship_ ,”

Kenma can’t believe what he’s hearing.

“I thought you ignored my confessions because you didn’t feel the same. I stopped coming over…because I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” A too loud laugh, “Are you telling me you don’t _remember_.”

A small shake of Kenma’s head makes his friend dissolve into laughter. Kenma just stares at him, thinking back to the fuzzy memories of kisses against his shoulder, his knuckles, his temples.

“Oh,” is all he says. Kuroo just continues laughing.

Kenma feels stupid.

So very stupid.

“Oh my god, we are so _stupid_.” Kuroo says between snorts of amusement.

“Shut up,” Kenma grumbles. He sniffs, only to end up coughing as snot slides down the back of his throat, “is that mug for me?”

“Hm?” Kuroo raises an eyebrow, “Oh, yeah. Sit up, I’ll give it to you.”

It seems anticlimactic, their confession.

Their misunderstanding.

He feels silly.

“This is stupid,” Kuroo confesses after Kenma had drained the honey sweetened tea and Kuroo had settled on the bed next to him, “Shit, Kenma. Cry and make a scene so I can feel like this happy ending isn’t so…”

“Boring?” Kenma supplies while curling against Kuroo’s side.

“Dull sounds like a better word.” Kenma hums his agreement.

The silence that settles in the room is comfortable, soft in a way Kenma hasn’t felt in _months_. Silence shared by his best friend, by his _something_. It’s then, in the quiet of their time together, that Kenma gets an idea. “You could kiss me,” he says.

“I could also get sick. I don’t want to get sick, Kenma. You have gross germs.” To prove his point, Kuroo removes his hand from its place in Kenma’s hair, causing Kenma to groan at the loss of warmth.

“You like these gross germs, kiss me.” It’s a demand. An order not only said with words, but by the way Kenma looks up to stare at Kuroo, a pout on his lips, “Sick people get better when healthy people kiss them.”

His words make a smile blossom on Kuroo’s face, and his childhood friend ducks down to peck at his lips, “Only because they pass on their sickness.” Another peck on his lips.

It’s not enough.

“I’ll nurse you back to health,” Kenma promises, “Kiss me, Kuroo.”

So Kuroo kisses him, and Kenma has never felt more complete in his life.

For once, the darkness of his mind doesn’t ruin his happiness with a comment.

He can get used to this.

**Author's Note:**

> scream at me @htakahiros and @jwritesangst on tumblr and @toorumutsukii on twitter.


End file.
